Bailing Out
by Pats
Summary: Sully's emotional turmoil while Nate is misplaced for three months in a Turkish prison.  Set during Uncharted 2. T for language.


Here's a quick one-shot that developed while I was replaying the second game. Rated T for language. Enjoy.

_Disclaimer:_ The quotes at the end in italics are taken directly from Uncharted 2. I don't own the characters, obviously. I just play with them.

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><p>BAILING OUT<p>

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><p><span>Set after the Istanbul Museum Incident in Uncharted 2: AT<span>

Three months is a long time. A lot of things can happen in three months. Emotions can change in three months. Hell, emotions _will_ change in three months. For Victor Sullivan, his emotions started at anger and ended in damned near panic, which if you knew Sully, you knew that panic wasn't in his vocabulary. The kid (_his_ kid) had run off with that god-forsaken English bastard and the raven-haired vixen. Despite the fact that Nate seemed to know this Flynn character, Sully wasn't happy about it. Chewing on his cigar and pacing the quarters of his boat, Sully remembered the conversation he had with Nathan Drake on this very boat just before he took off three months ago.

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><p>"Marco Polo's lost fleet, Sully! Can you imagine?" Nate was grinning like a fool, waving his hands around, "I mean, this is going to be huge," he emphasized the word "huge" with an excited flare of his hands.<p>

"You sure about this?" Sully growled in his gruff baritone, "These two come out of nowhere and they conveniently are just willing to split all these worldly treasures with you. It sounds a bit fishy, if you ask me."

"Well, that's why I'm here, Sul!" Nate said with a beaming grin as he flopped onto Sully's fold-out couch, "I _am_ asking you."

"Look, kid," Sully sighed, pulling his cigar out of his mouth and leaned against the counter, "You are going to do what you are going to do. Am I right? We've been together for a while now…"

"18 years," Drake mumbled interrupting his mentor, staring at the ceiling of the boat, wistfully.

"Right, 18 years. I know you. You aren't here to ask permission," he paused, eying up his companion, "So, whadda want?"

Nate sat up from his ungraceful lounge, his glee fading as he moved. He leaned forward, pressing his forearms into his thighs, "You know," he stated, simply as if that said everything.

Sully gave a great suffering sigh, knowing exactly what Nate was asking him, "I've told you this before. I can't go gallivanting around the globe anymore. I'm not as young as…"

"That's bullshit," Drake spat, "Bullshit, Sully, and you know it. You're just as…"

"NO. I'm not," he huffed, "I'm sixty now, kid. The bones don't do what they used to do."

"Sixty is just a number and you know it," Drake kept his head down as he had to same old argument with his friend, "Hell, you're the one who taught me that, Sully."

"Yea, and that sounds all well and goddamn great when you're forty, scaling buildings, but all this shit catches up with you, kid."

"Stop calling me that," Nate said in such a quiet voice that Sully almost missed it.

Sully blinked hard like he'd been slapped in the face, "What?" he was completely caught off guard by that one. He had been calling Nate 'kid' since the day they met. That was like telling a child not to call his parents 'Mom' and 'Dad' or, more aptly, a father not to call his child 'son'.

Nate was chewing on his lip as he lifted his head to give Sullivan a hard look. He didn't answer. Sully could see the rolling anger under his nonchalant façade. This wasn't the first time they had had this disagreement. Hell, it wasn't even the first time today it had come up in conversation. But it was the first time Nate attacked back in his subtle way. He rose from his spot on the couch and moved away from Sully, stopping on the other side of the room near the door.

"I'm obviously not a 'kid' if you're such an old man," Drake spoke, softly.

"Nate," Sully started without anywhere to go. Should he apologize? What the hell would he apologize for? Getting older?

Drake shook his head, "I'll call in a few days. This should be an in-and-out job."

"Where are you off to?" the conversation had gotten sullen after their small row.

"Don't worry about it," he said, pulling open the door and lightly jumping off the boat onto the dock. With only a quick glance over his shoulder, Nate hurried up the pier to get going or runaway, however you wanted to look at it.

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><p>That was the last he had heard from Drake three months ago. After two weeks, Sully had just been angry at Nate for acting like a petulant child. They had plenty of arguments in their two decades together; as a teenager, Drake would stomp out of the house and come back a few days later with his tail between his legs. As he came of age, he'd yell and rant, drink himself into oblivion, and apologize to Sully for his stupidity. Adult Drake usually just let everything drop. He'd mention what was bothering him to his friend and mentor, then move on to other things, pretending like nothing happened.<p>

That's why it had caught him off guard when Nate snapped at him on the boat. That's also why he was pissed that Nate was dragging this on so long. He was probably holed up in his apartment in Key West waiting for Sully to call and ask how the heist went.

Three weeks in, Sully _had_ called, but to no answer. Six weeks, anger had evaporated into concern. Where the hell was this kid? In all the years they were together, Nate had never left for this long without a postcard, a call, or some sort of message. It was an unspoken agreement between the two. With all the dangerous shit they did, it was only common courtesy to let the other person know you weren't dead in a ditch somewhere.

Shit, dead in a ditch. Panic started to set in. Ten weeks after Nate had leaped off of his boat that fateful afternoon, Sullivan still hadn't heard from the kid. He very well could be dead somewhere or fallen off of a building after one of his ridiculous Nathan Drake: the Human Monkey-Man acts. Sully had taken on a bunch of side jobs to keep his mind occupied, but really, all he could think about was that he had no idea where in the world to even start looking for Drake. He could be anywhere.

With a grumble and more chomping on his cigar, Sully paced the bow of his yacht, fully convinced he was going to wear a hole in his deck. He stopped to lean on the rail that faced out to the ocean. Gazing at the water ahead, he felt the boat give a subtle shift as someone stepped onto the stern.

"Nate?" Sully growled, facing the person, hand automatically going to his back to rest on the butt of his Wesson that was always tucked there.

"Not quite," came the feminine voice from the back on the boat, "I'm the one who lost him, but I can help you find him just as easily."

"Look, sweetheart…" he said, coming around the side to see the dark haired woman standing with her hands on hips, "Normally, I am all for beautiful women voluntarily climbing aboard and playing games on my deck, but you caught me at a bad time. Tell me what you know about Nate or get the hell off my boat. In fact, what do you mean _lost_ him? He's a goddamn human being. How do you misplace a human?"

Chloe Frazer pouted playful, "What, no foreplay, Sullivan?"

"What. Do. You. Know. About. Nate?" he snarled again, through gritted teeth, tempted to pull his gun on the woman.

"Fine, fine," she raised her hands to suggest surrender, "Tell me… what do you know about Turkish prisons?"

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><p>It took two additional weeks, Chloe's contacts, and all of his reserve money (as well as Nate's), but he finally got the okay to get Drake the hell out of Turkey. Following the corridor that the guard had pointed down, Sully's eyes bounced from cell to cell. That's when he heard Drake's voice and gave a breath of relief. Thank god. He could hear Nate talking to himself.<p>

"_Face __it, __genius, __you__'__ve __been __played,__" _he heard Nate say in a terrible English accent, followed in his regular voice, "_Oh __really?__"_ Sully smirked coming up to the bars and watching Nate playing with shadow puppets.

"_Hey, __hey, __hey!__"_ Nate complained, hands in the air, "_Jackass,__ you__'__re __ruining __the __show __here.__"_

Sully shook his head, things never change, _"__Ahhhh,__ what __a __shame,__"_ he responded to catch Drake's attention.

Joy overtook Nate's features as he jerked up on his bed and looked at him, _"__Sully!__"_

"_I __really __CAN__'__T __leave __you __alone __for __a __minute,__"_ he said, letting the happiness show on his face.

"_Oh __man, __am__ I __glad __to __see __you!__"_ he jumped up to the bars, grinning as well. Apparently, all hard feelings were gone. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

"_How__'__re__'__ya__'__doin,__ kid?__"_ Sully asked, with a quick glance to check Nate out. He looked ok. A bit skinny, stank like all hell, but overall ok.

"_Ah,__ I__'__m__ doing __just __great,__" _he grumbled, sarcastically, stepping back to let the guard open the door to his cell.

Offhandedly, Sully said, _"__Salud,__" _to the guard, solely focused on the kid in front of him, lowering his voice, _"__I __had __to __grease __a __few __palms. __I __did __go __through __the __rest __of __your __money __and__ a __good __chunk __of __my __own, __but__… __Hey__…"_

Relief… Emotions are a funny thing. Weeks and weeks of worrying evaporated as did any residual anger or distance that had developed between them with one simple heartfelt hug. Everything resolved with that one gesture. Emotions can sure as hell change in three months. But who cared?

With a solid pat on Nate's back, Sully smiled and made a happy grumble, _"__Jesus,__ you __stink.__"_


End file.
